


Twist of the Knife

by kiss_me_cassie



Series: Pain Universe [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bloodplay, Cutting, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gunshot Wounds, Implied Relationships, Knifeplay, Male Dominance, Mental Coercion, Minor Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Other, Past Relationship(s), Past Sexual Abuse, Self-Hatred, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, minor Sam Wilson - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-14 02:32:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7995445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiss_me_cassie/pseuds/kiss_me_cassie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They've played this game before. She doesn't want to be talked around or convinced. She wants to be controlled.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twist of the Knife

**Author's Note:**

> For geckoholic, who offered up some dark prompts to get my creativity flowing. Please heed the warnings in the tags. For real. I did not know I had this much darkness in my soul.
> 
> Comprised of a healthy dollop of MCU canon, comic canon, fanon and my own head canons, so if you cant't figure out how it 'fits' that's why.

Natalia doesn't waste any time once she gets to his place.

"Fuck me," she says as soon as he opens the door, pushing past him and stalking toward the bedroom without awaiting an invitation.

He smirks and follows her. Whatever she's come for, it clearly isn't romance or foreplay. But that's ok, he doesn't need either of those. Natalia is a beautiful woman and he's never said no to a good fuck whenever one's been offered. 

By the time he gets to the bedroom, she's already pulled off half her clothing. She stops when she sees him, pauses in taking off her shirt, and immediately reaches for his belt instead. 

There's no gentleness as she strips him bare and pushes him back onto the bed. In an instant, she's kneeling beside him, her mouth wrapped around his dick, sucking him to hardness.

Her technique is fabulous; she knows exactly what she's doing. Still, it's not her mouth he's been dreaming of. But if he closes his eyes, he can almost imagine a slim, muscular man above him instead, his lips sheathing him in warm wetness.

In a few minutes, after he's grown hard enough to mount, she releases him from her mouth and straddles his hips.

"Not that I'm complaining," he says conversationally, his hands coming up to cup her cotton covered breasts and work the burgeoning flesh. "But what's the occasion?"

"Does it matter?" she purrs, leaning down to suck his neck in just the spot where she knows he likes it best. 

She bites down on the flesh, leaving a mark, and he shudders in pleasure. She'll use all her wiles to distract him if he let's her. But he won't, not this time. He changes tactics, pinching her nipples to regain her attention.

"Any particular reason you're here in my room and not Clint's?"

She narrows her eyes. "No."

The answer is too quick, her look too calculated. "Really?"

"James." 

"Natalia."

His voice holds just as much warning as hers, and she shoots a glare at him. When he doesn't back down, keeps his eyes steadily on hers, she huffs and rises to her knees, disengaging his aching cock. She swings her leg over him and gets off the bed, starts to untangle her abandoned clothing on the floor.

He sits up and grabs her wrist. "Aww, come on, doll. You got me hard as fuck and now you're going to leave me here like this? Over a silly thing like Clint?"

"Yes." 

She yanks her hand away and he knows there's no way he'll be able to talk her around to straddling him again. But they've played this game before and he knows she doesn't really want him to anyhow. She doesn't want to be talked around or convinced. She wants to be controlled, to be violated. It's how she works through her difficult emotions; it's how she gets off.

He grabs her from behind, hooks an arm around her middle and drags her back to the bed. With a swift yank, he throws her onto it and pins her beneath his body. 

She fights him, her hips twisting from side to side, her knee aiming for his groin, but he knows she's not really trying. He's heavier and stronger than she is, but she's quicker and more cunning. If she really wanted to be free right now, she would be, and he'd be curled in a fetal position cradling his dick. 

"You didn't come here for some basic, standard sex did you? There're half a dozen faceless men you could have used for that," he says, knowing full well that he's right. "You want me to hurt you. To use force to make you come. Don't you?"

"You should talk," she spits out at him. 

"Yeah, but I'm willing to admit how fucked up I am. You aren't."

Her lips curl at that. "Really? Would you like to talk about Sam Wilson then?"

"Fuck, Natalia… don't do this."

"I _want_ this," she sneers. "And if you won't do it…"

Then she'll go to someone else, someone who could seriously hurt her, because when it comes to this, she has very little regard for how much is too much. She knows that if things go too far with the two of them, he'll stop.

Cursing, he reaches over to pull a knife from the bedside table. It's there for protection, but also for her. He knows this is what gets her off and keeps it handy for times like this.

Her eyes dilate when she sees it, and he can feel the heat suddenly radiating off her body, smell her need. 

Yes, this is why she came to him instead of Clint. She wants the feel of the knife on her skin. She wants it badly. Clint will do a lot of things for her, but Clint won't cut her.

"Tell me what you want, Natalia."

"You know what I want."

"Tell me anyhow." He twirls the knife deftly between his fingers and her eyes track it. 

"I need… I want... " She strains up against him and her breath hitches. "Please."

Her acting ability is outstanding, but he won't let her have it that easily.

"What. Do. You. Want," he says again, nimble fingers still playing with the knife.

Her eyes go flat as she studies him for a moment, before eyeing the knife again and licking her lips. Her voice is husky, but honest, when she answers.

"I want you to cut me. I want you to make me bleed. I want to taste my blood on your lips."

That's all he needs to hear. He bends close, touches the knife to her lips in a kiss, slowly moves it down her chin to the pulse at the base of her neck. He tests the tip against the hollow of her throat and she shivers, so he moves the knife even lower, to between her breasts. He flicks it against the flimsy cotton of the tshirt she still wears, slides it from the neck to hem, neatly bisecting the fabric. Using the blade to part the two halves, he reveals her full, naked breasts. With infinite patience, he circles each nipple, careful not to cut her, not yet. She whimpers, and he slowly slides the flat of the knife down her stomach to her navel.

She's quivering with need when he touches the tip of the knife to the pink skin above her left hip and draws it across her lower belly to her other hip, mimicking the scar she already wears. The cut's not very deep, barely a scratch, but it's enough to make her feel the pleasure/pain. 

"Oh, god, James," she breathes, lifting her hips off the bed. " _More_."

He glances up at her face and presses the knife deeper into her flesh, beads of crimson oozing from the fresh cut, small trickles of it dripping down into her pubic hair and onto the sheets. He's careful not to cut her too deep, though. He's left enough scars on her already; he won't leave more.

Lowering his head, he licks the blood from her skin, traces a line from her stomach to her breasts. When he looks up again, her eyes are glazed with pleasure and he dips his mouth to hers, letting her taste what remains of her blood on his tongue. She whimpers.

"Oh, my poor Natalia. We screwed you up so much, didn't we? You were barely into your teens that first time…" 

He shakes his head, refusing to get mired in the regret. He's no longer that man who helped train her. He's just James now. 

And he can't fix what he helped break, but he can give her what she wants, what she needs, at least at this moment. He kisses her lips one last time, then pulls away to lick at the bloody line across her stomach once more.

She cries out and he pulls away. Her chest is heaving, her breathing is heavy, and her eyes veer past him to the knife. The warmed metal blade is no longer cutting her, but is resting lightly against her hip, just below the puckered scar from a gunshot wound.

He shifts the knife in his hand, moves it lower along her hip, pushing the metal against the skin of her upper thigh. She watches him with rapt attention, hoping he'll slip, that he'll cut her again, but he shakes his head. He's caused her enough damage already.

Instead, he takes his other hand, the metal one, and slides it down her other hip, smoothes it across her thigh and parts her legs. He's barely touched her sex when she's arching up against him and crying out, an orgasm ripping through her.

He chuckles against her stomach, a humorless sound, as she rides out the waves of pleasure.

She's still vibrating with aftershocks when he roughly pushes a metal finger into her cunt. She shivers and he adds another one, making her nearly come all over him a second time. One touch of his palm against her clit and she'll definitely come again. He knows it and she knows it, too, knows she could cant her hips and be done with it. But she also knows he'll withdraw his fingers faster than she can bite out a curse at him if she does. 

"I'm so sorry, Natalia."

Her eyes flash to his, but she doesn't have time to utter a word before he's roughly pulling his fingers from her and shoving his dick inside instead, pumping fast and furious against her, not taking any care or consideration for her needs, just taking for himself. 

She wants this, too, to be used. 

When he's spent, full of self-loathing for all he's done, past and present, he rolls away, breathing hard as he sits on the edge of the bed.

When he glances back at her long moments later, she's stretched out on the bed, nearly purring with pleasure. 

"I'm sorry," he says again.

"For what? I haven't come that hard or that well in a while." 

She's smiling, and it's fairly terrifying how happy she looks, so happy that he can't meet her eyes. 

"That's why I'm sorry. For helping to make you into this," he says quietly, his head bowed.

She sits up, swipes a hand across the last of the blood from the cut on her stomach and wipes it clean on the sheet. She reaches out to touch his shoulder and he flinches.

"James…"

He turns his head to finally look at her again. "When you're with Clint, do you make him hurt you? Do you hurt him?"

She shakes her head, confused, and again he feels a deep pang of regret.

"Sometimes," she answers. "Not like this, but sometimes."

"But not always?"

Her lips are set in a stern line - she clearly doesn't want to discuss this - but she doesn't lie. "No."

"That man's in love with you," he says, regretting the words as soon as they're out of his mouth. It's not a lie, but it's not something they generally discuss. In fact, Natalia does her very best not to acknowledge it at all.

"James." 

It's a warning -- and a plea -- but he ignores it.

"He is," he insists, caution be damned now that it's out there. She knows it's the truth, but she's stubborn and feels she doesn't deserve him so she plays these games, comes to him when she feels she needs to be punished. It's her way to avoid intimacy. He wishes he could make her see it doesn't need to be that way. Clint's good at accepting other people's flaws - his, hers, his own.

"I don't want to talk about it."

He nods. This thing between them has never been healthy. Regardless of what she chooses to do about Clint, it's time to put an end to it.

"We're done, Natalia."

"Done?"

"Done," he sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face. "Done fucking, done hurting one another. Your lessons are over. You're dismissed." 

When she doesn't leave the bed, instead just stares at him in disbelief, he's the one that gets up and leaves, quietly closing the door behind him.

He's done with being damaged goods.


End file.
